


Musical statues

by JaqofSpades



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: M/M, nsfw fic meme, tumblr fic meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1592180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqofSpades/pseuds/JaqofSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Musical fucking statues, they called the game at Ophelia’s birthday party. The music stopped and now they’re all thoroughly fucked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Musical statues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lodessa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lodessa/gifts).



> Circa Plan B. Because it seems everyone needs to write one of these, at least once. (Written for the nsfw fic meme, to lodessa's prompt 'having a friend over and the other accidentally interrupts'.

He and Echolls have rehashed everything they can remember from that night on the bridge, talked motive and timing and eyeballed every last piece of evidence. It still doesn’t make sense, but then, him, here, locked away with Logan Echolls in the penthouse at the Neptune Grand? Nor does that. 

They're not even snarking at each other anymore, just pretending to ignore the tension prickling in the air. It's time to go, Weevil thinks, but gets sidetracked by the sight of Echolls stretching, long lean body spilling off the edge of the couch in a mouth-watering sprawl.

He tells his cock to sit the fuck down and stop creeping on the last person in the world who’d ever be interested. At least Veronica means it when she flirts with him - Echolls is just fucking with his head, trying to push Latino biker no 2 into going apeshit because some dude is coming onto him.

Joke’s on him, Weevil thinks hotly. Biker no 2 wants to rough him up, sure, but if Echolls rubs his hand over his chest one more time, or does that thing where he just stares at Weevil’s lips … no way is it gonna stop with a punch. Might not even start with a punch, Weevil admits, and lets himself drink in the sight of the other boy’s t-shirt riding up, taut belly sprinkled with hair and hipbones escaping from the lowslung chinos.

"See anything you like?"

Weevil lifts his gaze a fraction too slow to bother denying it. Not sure he would, anyway. It's Echolls' turn for the mindfuck. 

"Like? Hell no. Wanna fuck?" His shrug makes it clear that’s there’s no real question there. If he was Veronica, he’d be giving the guy a head tilt. But it’s not really the kind of thing he likes to leave to chance, so he doubles down. "Yeah."

Echolls' eyes bug out of his head, but he’s gotta hand it to the guy. He’s off that couch and in his face within seconds. Weevil’s bracing for a punch when the bastard's hand reaches around to drift over his ass instead. ”What makes you think I’d be the one getting fucked?”

Weevil snorts and steps closer. ”Because I don’t bottom. Because you definitely do,” he stresses, and fuck it, that’s one too many green lights for him to ignore. He reaches up to grab Echolls' face, learning the shape of that fucking ridiculous mouth with his tongue, and biting the sneer from his lips. His enemy stills completely for a long minute, then seems to sag against him, moaning into his mouth as his hands scrabble desperately against his belt.

One push, another, and they fall back onto the couch together, Weevil’s pants around his ankles even before he crawls up over Echolls' body.

"Nice boxers," he says laconically, and Weevil just grins as his naked cock swells against the other boy's abs. 

"I was all out of Armani," he jokes, and is rewarded by a flash of teeth. They don’t smile at each other, him and Echolls, not really, and it’s a bit fucking surprising how good it makes him feel. Like a pussy, or something.

He drops his weight full onto the ridge in Echolls' pants and grinds down viciously. ”Turn the fuck over.”

"Jesus - I haven’t .. .don’t you need …" 

Weevil lifts himself off a bit as he realises Echolls is freaking a bit, obviously uncomfortable. Any other time, he’d be lapping it up, but this … nah. Not with this. 

He backs away a little, gentles him with a slow, steady hand. “Don’t worry about it. Lie back.”

His mouth is full of cock when the door swings open.

*

"Logan, I’ve been talking to Weevil and …."

She’s halfway across the room, still digging in her bag when she looks up and they all freeze. Musical fucking statues, they called the game at Ophelia’s birthday party. The music stopped and now they’re all thoroughly fucked.

Rendering Veronica Mars speechless has gotta be worth something, though. He’s gonna need all those extra brownie points in heaven, specially if he keeps this sort of thing up.

Something in her eyes, though. Something he’s seen directed at him before, that pointed little tongue darting out to sweep across her lower lip, and the jagged little breath she sucks in …

May as well earn his eternal damnation.

He gives Echolls one last suck before he lifts his head to stare at her. 

"Two choices here, Mars. Turn your ass around, or …"

Echolls goggles at him, mouth open and body scalded with embarrassment, even as his hips buck upwards into Weevil’s hands. "Or? There’s an or in this situation?”

Weevil smirks down at him before looking back at V. 

"You could come sit down. Right," he shifts up a little so that there’s nothing to impede her view of Echolls’ cock, angry and red in Weevil’s dark fist "here."

He doesn’t wait for her answer before yanking Echolls forward off the couch so he can use his fingers as well as his mouth. Tries to tell himself he doesn’t actually care what she decides - he’s perfectly willing to drown that particular obsession in Echolls’ surprisingly willing body. The kid is practically begging for him now that they’re back into it, eyes completely locked on his as if Veronica never walked into the room. And maybe she’s already left, Weevil thinks as he focuses on Echolls writhing under his fingers and tongue. Maybe he doesn’t even care that she’s left, because he’s lifting Echolls up now, and the boy is practically fucking himself on Weevil’s fingers. 

The fact that he knows the moment her bag hits the ground, and his entire body screams with victory the minute she takes a halting step towards them … means nothing, really.

Nothing at all, to watch her biting her lip as Logan shoots his wad all over Weevil’s chest. Not a damn thing, he tells himself as their eyes lock, and she inches forward to drop a kiss on his collarbone, before moving south to lick him clean as daintily as a little cat.

Nothing he’ll ever forget, he swears, as two hot mouths and four slippery hands make Felix’s murder and the fucking Fitzpatricks and all the shit they’re dealing with just vanish into the delirium.

_fin_


End file.
